To the first He said:  “Look into my heart.”

But they wheeled about Him, and with newfound voices mocked, crying, “How could we see into your heart that is hidden” ... and mocked and derided, crying, “What is Peace! ...  Leave us alone!  Leave us alone!”

So Christ said to them: 

“I know you for the birds of Ahriman, who is not beautiful but is Evil.  Henceforth ye shall be black as night, and be children of the winds.”

To the seven other birds which circled about Him, voiceless, and brushing their wings against His arms, He cried: 

“Look into my heart.”

And they swerved and hung before Him in a maze of wings, and looked into His pure heart:  and, as they looked, a soft murmurous sound came from them, drowsy-sweet, full of peace:  and as they hung there like a breath in frost they became white as snow.

“Ye are the Doves of the Spirit,” said Christ, “and to you I will commit that which ye have seen.  Henceforth shall your plumage be white and your voices be the voices of peace.”

The young Christ turned, for He heard Mary calling to the sheep and goats, and knew that dayset was come and that in the valleys the gloaming was already rising like smoke from the urns of the twilight.  When He looked back He saw by the pool neither the Son of Joy nor the Son of Sorrow, but seven white doves were in the cedar beyond the pool, cooing in low ecstasy of peace and awaiting through sleep and dreams the rose-red pathways of the dawn.  Down the long grey reaches of the ebbing day He saw seven birds rising and falling on the wind, black as black water in caves, black as the darkness of night in old pathless woods.

And that is how the first doves became white, and how the first crows became black and were called by a name that means the clan of darkness, the children of the wind.

THE CHILD JESUS IN THE GARDEN

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Cold was the day, when in a garden bare,
  Walked the Child Jesus, wrapt in holy thought;
His brow seemed clouded with a weight of care;
  Calmness and rest from worldly things he sought.

Soon was his presence missed within his home;
  His mother gently marked his every way;
Forth then she came to seek where he did roam. 
  Full of sweet words his trouble to allay.

Through chilling snow she toiled to reach his side,
  Forcing her way mid branches brown and sere,
Hastening that she his sorrows might divide,
  Share all his woe, or calm his gloomy fear.

Sweet was her face, as o’er his head she bent,
  Longing to melt his look of saddest grief. 
With lifted eyes, his ear to her he lent;
  Her kindly solace brought his soul relief.

Then did he smile—­a smile of love so deep,
  Winter himself grew warm beneath its glow;
From drooping branches scented blossoms peep;
  Up springs the grass; the sealed fountains flow.